


The Belgian Mistake

by stonegirl77



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff, French Mistake-ish, Not Actually Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-17 15:01:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5875282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonegirl77/pseuds/stonegirl77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beth Givens has been working with the Winchesters for a few years when her guardian angel steps in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The One at the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing for SPN, so I'm not sure how this is going to go... Wish me luck!

“Hey, sweetheart, wake up!” A fist pounded at my door. “Up and at ‘em, Beth!” I swung the door open, smiling at the tall man with green eyes.

“Morning, Winchester.” I shoved a cup of coffee at him, pulling my duffel over my shoulder as I drained my own cup and tossed in the trash.

“Ready to head home?” Dean asked, taking a sip of coffee.

“Hell yeah,” I smirked, slamming the door behind me and making sure it locked. “How’s the shoulder?” I watched him carefully as he made his way to the Impala. Still slightly favouring the left shoulder, as he’d dislocated the right a few days earlier, on the last hunt. I’d have to keep an eye on it.

“Morning Beth,” Sam said, shouldering his own way out of the motel room.

“Morning Moose,” I said, giving him his cup of coffee.

“You’re a goddess,” he groaned, inhaling about half the cup.

“So they tell me.” I slung my duffel in the back of the car, then followed myself.

“How many miles this morning?” Dean asked, getting into the Impala himself.

“Only four,” I said. I’d stepped out for a quick run before we left to head back to the bunker, grabbing us coffee and breakfast at the diner just down the road on my way back. I pulled out the Clausewitz and my notebook and settled in for a morning of work.

That afternoon I was dozing, head on my duffel, as Dean pulled up to the bunker at last. I lifted my head as Baby slid to a stop, sitting back up.

“Ok back there, Sleeping Beauty?” Dean asked, catching my eye in the rear-view mirror. I stuck out my tongue at him, and his eyes crinkled at me - he was smiling.

Sam and Dean were debating something or other - I wasn’t paying attention - as I entered the bunker, heading straight for my room. My duffel went on my bed, and I started to unpack. Dirty laundry - well, dirty, muddy, and bloody laundry - went onto a pile next to the door, books on a pile on my bed. Weapons stayed in the duffel, and I made a mental note to clean them tonight.

Duffel mostly empty, my stomach rumbled, so I headed into the kitchen, where Dean was already at the stove, cooking. I stood in the doorway for a minute, watching him.

He’d changed into a fresh t-shirt, I noticed, the light cotton moulding itself to the muscles in his back as he stirred whatever it was he was making. I couldn’t imagine a world, anymore, that didn’t contain the Brothers Winchester. Two years ago, I’d been at home from college for spring break when a spirit had killed my parents. An only child, I’d been at loose ends after the funeral, with a bit of money saved up, but not enough to finish paying for my now-useless history degree.

Thankfully, Sam and Dean had taken pity on me, and had started using me to help them research at first. I’d been roped into the hunting side of things almost over a year ago, when a wendigo had started terrorising people in my small town. I’d survived, just, and Dean had dragged me, mostly unwillingly, into training with him. I’d moved into the bunker, and started a new life.

Now I was better at defending myself even than the Winchesters, as I was almost obsessive about learning new martial arts and practicing them with Cas. I also read as much as I could get my hands on - military history, strategy, not to mention the lore books, cataloguing and compiling an actually useful database. I loved my life, I really did, apart from one thing.

I had a thing for the elder Winchester. Not that I didn’t love Sam like a brother, because I did. But Dean - he turned as I watched him, and spotted me in the doorway. His lips twitched in a grin and he gestured with a spatula.

“Steak and potatoes tonight. And green beans for Sam.” A man who could cook, with a body worth drooling over in spite of the sheer quantity of pies he ate, the ability to kill demons and other nasties, all combined with the sweetest man I’d yet to come across, buried though he might be below layers of badass hunter and damaged son. No wonder I’d fallen for him. Hard.

“Sounds great,” I replied. “Weapons?”

“In the bag,” he replied, jerking his head at the bag on the table.

“And your shoulder?” That was my other job - medic and nurse to all three of us, trying to make sure we didn’t drop dead from preventable causes.

Dean didn’t reply, so I dropped my duffel on the table and reached for him. I kneaded careful fingers into his right shoulder, waiting to see if he winced. More or less fine. I moved to the left shoulder. Tighter than the right, but that was to be expected - Dean had been using it more to compensate.

“Do I pass muster, doc?” Dean asked, turning his head, but otherwise unmoving beneath my probing fingers.

“You’ll do,” I told him with a smile. We sparred back and forth, we hugged, we generally acted like siblings, like I was the sister Sam and Dean never actually had. And I loved them too much to ask them to change that relationship, so I kept my secret. Not that Dean ever showed me the slightest interest as anything more than a sister, friend, and hunter anyway. I gave him a last pat on the shoulder and picked up the two bags of weapons.

“I’ll get a start on these,” I told him. “Let me know-“

“When dinner’s ready, yeah,” Dean finished. Another trademark grin.


	2. The One Who Came To Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner with the boys culminates in plans to hit the bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we go... hope y'all are enjoying this story - daily updates, I think, for this one, at least for the foreseeable future.

“You know you don’t have to clean all our weapons, right?” Sam asked, finding me elbow-deep in the metal sink in the laundry room.

“I know,” I replied. “Sling ‘em on the table.” He’d arrived carrying his own weapons. “I’m doing the daggers and stuff tonight - I’ll do the guns in the morning.”

“Are you absolutely sure you’re ok with cleaning all the weapons?” Sam asked.

“Are you absolutely sure you need to ask me the question every time we come back from a hunt?” I asked with a smile. “Go on, go relax, Sam. I’ve got this one.” I shoved my earbuds back in and returned to cleaning the weapons. Not that they were so dire, this time around, I reflected, nodding my head absentmindedly to the music. I pulled out my katana - unused - from the pile - and unsheathed it. It was still spotless, so I put it on the clean pile.

Dean’s angel blade, though? Filthy. As per usual. Well, if the man insisted on not using a proper sheath, I thought, taking care not to cut myself with the blade as I cleaned it.

 

“Yo, nerds! Dinner!” Dean called, sticking his head around the door to the library. I’d finished the weapons and had resumed my Clausewitz work. The guy wasn’t always right, I thought, pushing myself up from my chair with a groan, but he wasn’t too far wrong either.

“You coming, Sam?” I asked, looking down for once at him.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there in a minute,” he muttered, and I grinned, then flipped the book closed.

“What the hell, Beth!” Sam said, glaring up at me.

“This is Mama Bear speaking,” I said, still holding the book closed against Sam’s attempts to resume work and grinning. “You’ve been hunting and working for three days straight. You will go and eat dinner and relax for a while. Understand?”

Sam sighed. “Yes, mom.” He stood, now towering over me as usual. I wasn’t short, at 5’7”. Above average, just, for a girl, but living around Sam and Dean made me constantly feel like a shrimp. Sam ruffled my hair as he went past me, and I automatically reached for my hairband.

The only time the boys didn’t mess with my hair every time they passed me was when it was in a braid. So I braided as I walked. I was finished by the time I sat down at the table next to Sam. Dean was absent, but I heard his voice as I picked up my beer.

“Damnit Cas,” he said, rounding the corner. “There’s no way in hell I’m driving to Oregon for a maybe vampire squad. Let someone else handle it.”

“But Dean,” Cas replied, coming into view as well. “This is your duty as a hunter, to protect people, yes? Hello Sam, Elizabeth.”

“Sup Cas,” Sam said around a mouthful.

“Hi Castiel,” I said. If Cas couldn’t use my nickname like everyone else, I wouldn’t use his either. Probably petty of me, but I couldn’t help myself. Dean smirked, just barely, a corner of his mouth twitching briefly upwards.

“Yeah, it is,” he shot back at the angel, grabbing his beer himself and taking a swig. “But I’m not gonna waste my time on a wild goose chase either!”

“We are not chasing geese, Dean,” Cas replied slowly, missing the idiom completely, as usual. “We are hunting vampires.”

“Wild goose chase means…” I began, then stopped. “It’s a figure of speech, Castiel. A wild goose chase is when you go hunting after something that turns out not to exist.”

“I see,” Castiel said, taking the empty chair next to me. He stayed silent, digesting the information. I appreciated that about the angel - he thought before he spoke, unlike most people.

“It’s Thursday, isn’t it?” Sam said, reaching for more green beans. I nodded automatically.

“Three dollar Thursdays?” Dean asked, suddenly smiling. Sam smiled too, and I felt a bit bad for completely not looking forward to the impending bar visit. Watching the boys get drunk and hit on girls wasn’t my idea of a good time, and as the self-designated designated driver, I couldn’t get drunk myself, and I wasn’t interested in a one-night stand. Maybe Castiel would keep me company tonight, I thought absentmindedly, taking another bite of steak.

“Beth?” Sam asked. I’d zoned out.

“What?” I looked up.

“Do you want to come?” Dean repeated.

“You need a DD, don’t you?” I asked drily. “Yeah, I’ll come. Cas, interested?” The angel shook his head.

“I am required elsewhere. Sam. Dean. Elizabeth.” He vanished.

“Nice of him to stop by,” I commented.

 

 

I stood at my bathroom mirror, putting on mascara, when he appeared.

“Hi, sugar.”

“Gabe!” I almost shrieked before I controlled myself. The last thing I needed was the boys rushing in and catching the archangel. They didn’t exactly like each other.

“How’s my favourite human?” Gabe asked, leaning against the bathroom door.

“Getting ready for a night out,” I replied, trying to get the mascara off my eyelid. “What’s up with the visit, oh guardian angel of mine?” Gabe had revealed himself as my guardian angel around the time that I’d moved in with the Winchesters. He generally kept me from being killed, and checked up on me every now and again, usually before some apocalypse or other. Oh, and I only knew he existed when he was physically present. When he was gone, he took the relevant memories with him.

“I can’t come and visit casually?” he asked, unbraiding my hair with a snap.

“Gabe!” I snapped, reaching to rebraid it. He caught my hands and pushed them away from my hair.

“Leave it down for once, huh? Even you have to let your hair down sooner or later.”

“I prefer later,” I said, thinking of tonight, with its impending flirting Dean. “Seriously, though. What’s up? The world ending again?”

“Actually no,” Gabe snapped his fingers again, and my hair magically acquired just the slightest hint of curl. “Turns out I’m here because of you this time.”

“Because of me? I can’t exactly call you.” I moved on to lipstick, considering a couple before ultimately discarding them all.

“Honey, you know exactly why I’m here,” Gabe said easily, resuming his place against the door. I raised an eyebrow. “Our favourite squirrel?”

“What about him?”

“Oh, so you aren’t going to admit the massive middle-school crush you have on him?”

“Not important.”

“Oh, but it is important.” He poked me in the back. “To you, sweet cheeks. If you keep ignoring it, nothing good will happen.”

“You just described my life,” I told Gabriel drily. “Nothing good, nothing bad. Now leave me alone. Unless the world’s ending, I’m fine.”

“Whatever you say,” Gabe replied, “Oh omnipotent mortal.” I made a face.

“Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”


	3. The One at the Bar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean, Sam, and Beth head to the bar.

“Three beers,” I told the bartender, leaning on the polished wooden surface every single bar I’d ever been to seemed to possess. “Whatever’s on tap.”

“Sure thing,” he said, getting out the glasses.

“Oh, and three shots,” Dean said, leaning next to me, so close our hips brushed.

“Two,” I corrected. “You want me to be able to drive, right?”

“Lightweight.”

“Oh go and boil your head, Winchester,” I said. Dean just raised an eyebrow at me.

“Boil my head?”

“‘M tired. Sue me.” Dean surprised me by wrapping me in a one-shouldered hug.

“Try and have some fun tonight, huh? You deserve it too.” I just shot him a dubious look.

“I left Carl under protest,” I said, referencing my beloved Clausewitz who’d been consuming my life for the past week and a half. What? I liked to research. And research the research. And find historical context. And look up what the battlefields looked like now - thanks Google Earth.

“And you won’t regret it,” Dean said, accepting the first beer. “Let me know if you need a wingman.”

“I don’t think it works that way for guys,” I said, accepting my own beer and Sam’s and heading over to our table. Dean just saluted with his beer and his shot, heading over to a pair of twenty-somethings in mini skirts.

Sam accepted the beer with a nod. “To another successful hunt,” he said, and raised his glass. I clinked.

“To many more,” I said, and we drank.

 

Two hours later, I was nursing my second water and lime, just watching. Sam had gone to talk to the pretty college girl who’d arrived shortly after I did, and I’d been left on my own, watching. At first I’d missed Carl something dreadful, but I adjusted, as I usually did, content to watch the occupants of the bar before me. The bartender and the waitresses moved in mostly competent arcs, serving patrons, removing empty glasses, talking, laughing, smiling.

Customers smiled too, and laughed. They drank and spoke to each other. Some people danced, some people played pool. Volume levels ranged, depending on the level of drunkenness of the group.

“Hi.” The guy had come up next to me and stopped. I’d seen him coming, six foot nothing, black hair, neatly trimmed beard. Pretty blue eyes, fairly handsome. Fairly well-built, but only aesthetic - the kind of guy who worked out in a gym but hadn’t actually punched anyone. I’d figured he was heading for the group of girls two tables down. Apparently I’d been wrong.

“Hi,” I said.

“So I know this is a line,” Beardguy said. “And it totally sounds like a line. But I actually mean the question.”

“All right,” I was prepared to let him say his piece.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing sitting alone at a bar like this?” I chuckled.

“That’s a classic,” I said.

He grinned, teeth flashing in his tanned face. “Question stands.”

“I came here with friends,” I gestured in Sam and Dean’s direction. “They got lucky.”

“And they left you here?” he gestured at the chair next to me, and I nodded. Why not talk to a cute guy whose last name wasn’t Winchester every once in a while? He sat.

“I can fend for myself.” I offered a smile of my own. “Come by yourself, or have you abandoned friends too?”

He jerked his head at two guys at the bar, who grinned as I looked over. “They can take care of themselves too.”

I doubted that. They had the same look as the guy sitting next to me. Well-trained, inexperienced. Monster bait. “So, you live around here?” the guy asked.

“Somewhere,” I said affirmatively. “You?” I knew he didn’t, but I guessed it was polite to ask.

“Nah,” Beardboy gave me another smile. He was cute, I thought. “Just passing through.” We sat, awkward silence filling the space between us.

“What’d you do ‘round here?” I caught the slightest hint of a Southern accent as he spoke, long dulled by years spent away from home.

“I’m a historian,” I said, watching his eyes glaze over. Any other night, I might have let the rote answer slide, let the man lose interest and move on. Tonight, though, I kept talking. “Military history. Emphasis in practical tactics and strategy.” Beardguy’s eyes lit again.

“Sweet!” He took a swig of his beer.

“So you study battles and stuff?”

“And training manuals, and I spend a lot of time trying to figure out why what happened actually happened,” I said, warming to the topic. “And I spend a lot of time training.”

“Training?”

“It’s easier to imagine why an army did what it did if you know first-hand what the soldiers were capable of.” I grinned. “I know a lot about most martial arts - karate, tae kwon do, krav maga, kendo. ’S fun.” And capoiera, and muay thai, and knife fighting, the list went on. But I didn’t want to intimidate the guy.

“No shit.” Beardguy’s eyes really were blue, I noticed. I let my eyes travel around the bar, scanning for anything suspicious. I caught Sam’s eye, who grinned when he noticed my companion. I grinned back.

“Yeah, well, it passes the time,” I said. “What about you?”

“I’m in sales,” he said. “Pharmaceuticals, you know? The new cure for cancer and all that shit.” He took another pull of beer. “Not that any of it works or anything.”

Dying of cancer. Not really something I’d thought about recently. Dying of sepsis, or a stab wound, or side effects of demonic possession, sure. But cancer? Not so much.

“So why do it?” I asked. “I mean, if it’s a lie.”

“Because I’m good at it,” he replied, shrugging. “Because it pays the bills, and it helps some people, I guess.” I’d hurt the guy’s feelings, I saw. Too bad. A new song came on the jukebox, some slow one I recognised from Dean’s collection, something by the Eagles. Beardboy stood, extending a hand. “Wanna dance?”

I stared at the hand for only a second. It was out of character for me, to dance with anyone. But why not? I took the hand and stood. He slid his arms around my waist and I put mine around his neck, feeling the vertebrae there. For once, I wasn’t calculating how easy it would be to kill him, and I smiled faintly as I let him pull and push me around the floor.

“Your hair’s pretty,” he said. I’d left it down for some reason I couldn’t name, and the boys hadn’t even messed it up.

“Thanks,” I looked down. I wasn’t used to getting compliments for my looks. Or compliments at all, for that matter. One of his hands slid lower down my back, and I tensed. His hand rested exactly on my butt, and he didn’t move it. I glared at him.

“Remove your hand from my ass, please.”

He just grinned. “You sure, sugar?” The hands stayed where they were

“She’s sure.” Dean was suddenly next to me, glaring at the guy himself.

“I got this one, Dean,” I said, transferring my glare from one man to the other. Dean didn’t move.

“Dean?” Beardguy’s eyes flashed hard. “I thought you were here with friends.”

“I did. Remove your hands from me or I will remove them for you.” I’d unwound my hands from his neck and stood unmoving in the circle of his arms. His hands were still on my ass, tightening every so slightly. He laughed. Dean didn’t say anything, just stood there, if I needed him.

“I’m warning you again,” I said. “Let go of me now, or you will be hurting tomorrow.”

“Come on, sweetheart,” Beardboy said, and I moved. My elbow went up towards his face as I squatted, his tense arms bringing his face into my upturned elbow. Of course, if he’d just let go of me, he’d have been fine. But he hadn’t. Blood gushed from his nose and he let go of me, howling. It was beautiful.

I turned and walked back to our table, Dean in tow. “I warned him,” I said, reaching for my drink. “Sorry to tear you away from your new friend.” The fact that I could have handled it on my own I left unsaid. He knew.

“No trouble.” Dean’s lips quirked in a quick grin, the most genuine emotion he displayed in public. “I just wanted a front row seat.” Beardboy was with his friends now, both of whom were glaring over at us. I grinned back. Dean, seeing what I was looking at, plastered a fake grin to his face then put an arm around me and kissed my hair.

“Idiot was right, though,” he said, releasing me. “Your hair’s pretty down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have so many issues with this chapter *reads earlier writing and cringes*
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy, and there will be more Plot (TM) tomorrow.


	4. The One with the Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beth wakes up somewhere that is not the Bunker. Also, with someone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's one of my favourites - hope you enjoy!

I tried to roll over, and someone’s arm tightened around me. The sheets were wrong too, way too nice to be my sheets in the bunker. I noticed all of it sleepily, not yet awake enough to be bothered by the weirdness.

But I’d wanted to move. I rolled in the other direction, towards the other person in bed and my eyes fluttered open.

“Hi Sleeping Beauty,” Dean said, green eyes as hazed with sleep as mine.

“Dean!” Instead of letting me push back from the embrace as I’d have liked, Dean pulled me closer instead.

“Beth,” he said. “Thank God it’s you.”

“Who else would it be?” I asked, pushing back so I could look at him. Not that I hadn’t shared a bed with Dean before. It was practically routine, every time we hit a motel that didn’t have two vacancies, I shared with Dean.

But I didn’t wake up with his arm around my waist. Nor was he usually, gods, shirtless. I wasn’t wearing much either, I realised as a spaghetti strap pulled my shoulder. I pushed up to one elbow and looked around, Dean looking up at me bemusedly.

We were in a beautiful room, in a king bed. It was done up like some fancy design catalogue, complete with silly owl vases on the low table on the other side of the room. I looked down at myself. I was in some fancy negligee thing, all pastel lace leaving little to the imagination.

“What the hell’s going on?” I asked Dean.

“Remember when I told you about the other world - the one where Supernatural is a TV show? And Sam and I had to pretend to be actors - Jensen Ackles and Jared Pada-something?”

“Padalecki,” I said, smoothing a strand of hair behind my ear and slumping back in bed. “I remember.” I looked up at the ceiling. “Think this is it?”

“That or we’re in some wacky angel-driven nightmare.” Dean grinned. I levered myself off the sinfully comfortable and insanely large bed, and only realised exactly how much leg I was showing when Dean looked me up and down.

“Clothes,” I said, looking around for a closet or something. “First clothes. Then we explore.”

“Ok.” Dean swung himself off the bed, and it was my turn to ogle. I knew, in an intellectual sort of way, that Dean was muscular. I did my best not to look when he was changing, as I knew it’d just be more fuel to add to my very ill-advised crush, and when he was injured, I had better things to think of. Or so I’d thought.

It turned out I’d constructed a rather detailed and accurate mental image of Dean’s torso, complete with scars and lines of muscle. And anti-possession tattoo.

“Like something you see?” Dean smirked.

“The tattoo came too?” I said, walking the few steps to run my finger lightly over his chest.

“Yours did,” Dean said, reaching to my own shoulder. His voice had grown a bit deeper, and I could hear the almost-growl in his chest. Probably because I was so close to him. I glanced up and his face was dizzyingly close to mine. I froze.

We stared at each other, and I didn’t recognise the expression on his face. Then the moment passed.

“Clothes,” I said. Dean looked away, and I could move again. I started opening doors, and first found once closet filled with men’s clothes, which I pointed Dean to, then one filled with women’s. It was a glorious thing, that closet. Any possible outfit I could have chosen, from demon-slaying practical to black tie, was possible with access to this closet. And the shoes. Of every description, and all beautiful.

I grabbed. A beautiful lacy bra and matching panties, a cami. Jeans that fit like they were made for me. A blood red button-down shirt, and a blazer. Socks and knee-high boots. Everything was perfectly my size, and I wondered whether Dean was right, and if so, what that meant. I looked in the mirror and something flashed on my left hand. My eyes darted down.

A diamond solitaire on a silver band sat on my ring finger. I was someone’s fiancee, in this life, anyway. Was I Dean’s, or, more appropriately, Jensen’s?

I ducked back into the bedroom, where Dean was putting on boots. “Dean?” he looked up, and I held up my left hand. He swallowed, hard. “I really hope I’m your fiancee,” I said softly. “Otherwise, other me is a really bad person.” Dean took my outstretched hand in both of his, examining the ring.

“How’d I do?” he asked. I didn’t understand for a minute.

“Oh, the ring?” I looked down, at Dean, holding my hand, at the ring. “You did perfect,” I said. “It’s beautiful.”

“Glad to know other me has some taste,” Dean muttered, letting go of my hand. “Oh, bathroom’s that door,” he said, gesturing at one of the two remaining doors. I ducked in, then heard a phone ring. Dean swore, then answered. Less than five minutes later, he was knocking on the bathroom door.

“Sam just woke up next to a smoking hot brunette, his words, not mine, who claims she’s his wife. We’re back in TVland. Sam’ll be over soon, once he figures out where the hell we are.” I opened the door.

“Oh goody.” I glanced at my hand again. “So my big question is, who am I?” I ducked out of the room and started to explore the house.

It was enormous, with another three bedrooms on the top level with the master, each with its own palatial and well-appointed bathroom. I headed down the stairs, having grabbed other me’s cellphone from the bedside table just in case, and stopped, caught by the photos hung on the wall. Dean and I, smiling at the camera. Sam and Dean, arms slung around each other, fake blood and guts covering each of them, grinning like idiots. Dean, kissing my cheek as I smiled dreamily. Sam and a beautiful brunette - his wife, probably, and Dean and I.

I shook myself, then continued down the stairs. Whoever other me was, she was a lucky lady.

The rest of the house was as grand as the bedroom had been, complete with giant kitchen, huge couch and widescreen TV, and a gym/dojo. It must have been our gym, I thought, spotting my katana and grabbing it. I felt safer with it slung behind one shoulder, and grabbed Dean’s angel blade as well.

“Food?” Dean asked as I emerged from the gym. He’d found the kitchen as well, and was making eggs. My stomach rumbled, and Dean must have heard it. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“So I think other me is definitely Jensen’s fiance,” I said, having decided to use the proper names when discussing other me. Any more of pretending to be Dean’s actual fiance and I’d go nuts when we got back to the real world.

“Saw the pictures too,” Dean said, nodding when I offered the blade. I slid it across the counter. “Try Googling us,” he suggested. I raised an eyebrow, and he explained. “I’m famous in this world. Stands to reason you are too.” I groaned inwardly, imagining dealing with Dean with an even bigger ego, then pulled out my phone. The password was still the same, and I pulled up Google and typed in Jensen’s name.

Sure enough, the first article had a picture of me and Dean - other me and Jensen, I corrected myself - exiting a restaurant, hands linked. “Jensen Ackles Dating?” I read aloud. “Sources discovered the ‘Supernatural’ star leaving a popular LA restaurant hand in hand with Elizabeth Givens, lead stunt coordinator on his show.”

“So you’re a badass here too,” Dean said. “Great. I get to be some no-good actor.”

“It says we’ve been going out for six months,” I said, skimming the rest of the article. “This Jensen guy moves fast.”

“He must know when he’s got it good,” Dean said, which earned him a slap on the back of the head as I searched for coffee. I found the coffee and the coffee machine and began learning the new contraption, which was far too complicated for my taste. The doorbell rang as the coffee dripped into the pot.

“I got it,” I told Dean, making my way to the door. Sam stood on our doorstep.

“Beth?” he asked, uncertainly.

“Didn’t Dean tell you?” I asked grinning. “Hiya Sammy.” He gave me a hug. “This must be weird for you, huh?” he asked, following me inside.

“No fucking kidding,” I said, showing him my left hand. Sam’s eyebrows rose and his jaw dropped.

“What’d Dean say?” he asked.

“Oh, nothing much,” I said. “He asked if he’d - if Jensen had bought the right ring.” This whole not confusing Dean and Jensen thing? Not going so well.

 

 


	5. The One over Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beth and the boys have breakfast. Then Jared's wife calls.

“Morning Sam,” Dean called as we reentered the kitchen. He’d finished cooking - eggs, bacon, and toast - and had it out on the breakfast bar. I grabbed another mug for Sam and poured us all coffee.

“Dean,” he said, smiling in thanks when I passed him his mug.

We all ate and drank for a minute, enjoying the peace.

“So what do we do now?” I asked. “How do we get out of here?”

Sam chewed for a minute, considering, but Dean chimed in before his brother could answer. “What, Beth, already sick of me?” I blushed, glad Sam was between me so Dean couldn’t see.

“Not what I meant, Winchester.”

“You’re going to have to stop calling him that,” Sam pointed out. “Start using his other name. You won’t slip up that way.”

“Fine,” I said, stabbing my eggs. “Jared.” Sam made a face.

“As to getting out - we’re assuming Gabe the genius zapped us in here?”

“I guess,” I replied. “I dunno why, though.”

“Because he thinks its fun?” Dean asked.

“Not helpful, Dean,” Sam said reflexively.

“What happened last time anyway?” I asked.

“Raphael, Virgil, angels, bad acting.” Dean took another gulp of coffee.

“Sorry, bad question.” I rephrased. “I meant what’s different here? I know about the whole no magic thing, but what about you two? Not brothers, but colleagues, right?”

“No magic,” Dean confirmed. “Last time we were here, the guy who plays Cas got ganked by Virgil. And Jared and Jensen didn’t exactly get along. And we quit.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” I said, pulling out the phone again. “I thought I read somewhere…” I trailed off, breakfast forgotten as I searched. “See, here?” I said.

“Yeah?” Dean said from my elbow and I jumped. He’d sneaked up on me. I moved the phone and he leaned closer so he could see, leaning an arm on the back of my stool.

“It says this guy Misha Collins plays Castiel. No mention of him being dead. Same guy?” I flipped to the picture.

“Yup,” Dean said, breath ghosting past my ear. “And what kind of name is Misha anyway?”

“It’s Russian, originally,” I explained automatically. “It’s the nickname form of some formal Russian name - the Russian version of Michael, I think. Whatever that is. Not that this guy looks even remotely Russian, though.” My phone buzzed, and the pretty brunette’s face flashed onto the screen.

 **Gen calling…** my phone said.

“Better get that,” Dean observed, still right next to me. “I guess you two are friends.” I took a breath. I was playing a different version of myself - how hard could it be, right? Then I realised what I’d just thought. Ha. This was going to be really difficult now.

Signalling for quiet, I pushed the accept key, then hit speaker.

“Gen?” I asked.

“Did he ask you?” Gen’s voice was excited, somewhat distorted by the speaker.

“As me what?” I asked, guessing it was ok to act confused.

“Don’t play dumb, honey,” Gen replied. “Did Jensen ask you to marry him last night? Jared and I were going nuts last night trying to figure out how it went.”

I took a breath, very aware of Dean still standing next to me. “He did,” I said slowly.

Gen squealed. “And you said?”

“Yes, of course,” I replied without thinking, goofy grin growing on my face. Just playing the part, right?

“Oh my god! Congratulations!” Gen’s voice had risen an octave. “I’m so happy for you!”

“Thanks,” I managed to get in.

“Don’t mention it,” she said. “Now, have you discussed wedding plans yet?”

This time I had to glance at Dean, who was looking at the phone with a small smile on his face. “No, not yet,” I said. “Let us be happily engaged for 24 hours at least, huh?”

“Sure, sure,” Gen said. “Hey, Jared there yet? He said he was coming over. Way too pushy if you ask me, but, that’s Jared for you.”

“Yeah, he arrived a few minutes ago. Wanna speak to him?”

“Please - he needs to pick something up at the store on the way home for me.” I turned off the speaker and handed the phone over to Sam.

‘Have fun,’ I said silently.

“Hi honey,” he said, walking out of the room. I watched him go, and let out a breath I didn’t realise I’d been holding.

“Good job,” Dean said, giving me a quick hug before going to collect the dishes.

“Thanks,” I said. That hadn’t been too bad, actually. And Dean was - doing dishes? Dean never did dishes. I got up myself. “You cook, I clean,” I said, leaning against him to push him away from the sink. “Go find Sam, see what his plans are for the rest of the day.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dean smirked, and I turned my attention to the assorted crockery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> I'm on tumblr, if you want to check it out - stonegirl77.tumblr.com. See you there!


	6. The One at Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beth and Dean head to work

“Morning, Liz!” Someone called as I emerged from between two trailers. Dean and Sam - Jensen and Jared, I corrected myself for the umpteenth time - got to hide in their little metal boxes all morning, and I had to do work. As a fight coordinator. Whatever that was. I looked up. A burly guy dressed in all-black was jogging towards me.

“Hi,” I said, a bit uncertainly. No one ever called me Liz. Ever.

“Have a good weekend?” tall guy asked, stopping next to me. I ran a thumb over the ring on my finger.

“You might say that,” I said.

“Ready for the scene?”

I scratched my head. “Which scene?”

“The one where you get to watch stunt guys kick your boyfriend’s ass all over set?” I couldn’t help but grin. As if Dean would ever get his butt kicked by these pretty boys.

“Yeah,” I lied, wondering what the hell I was getting into.

We meandered over to the set, the guy, who’s name I still didn’t know, blabbering on about work. I let him lead me along, as I had no idea where we were headed. I gathered I was the one who choreographed all the fights. It would explain the almost obscene amount of athletic gear in my closet. I’d just figured other me worked out a lot.

“And here we go,” tall guy said, turning into on of the big warehouses. It looked like the bunker, and I grinned to see the familiar surroundings.

“Liz!” Castiel came over, but his voice was… wrong. Higher pitched. It was completely bizarre. He gave me a hug too. Castiel giving hugs was simply the strangest thing ever.

“Hi Misha,” I said, finally dredging up the actor’s name from my memory. “Jensen told me - congratulations!” He grabbed my left hand, and I managed not to freak out, but let him examine the ring.

“Liz!” Tall Guy said, reproachfully. “You didn’t say!”

“I thought it would have been obvious,” I said, a bit lamely, and the guy just patted me on the back.

“Congrats, hon.”

“Thanks.” I was grinning like a fool, examining the hand Misha still held.

“Our boy did good, huh?” he asked, grinning right back at me.

“He tends to,” I agreed. I heard voices from the set, and I turned, and was met by the most ridiculous sight ever.

Sam and Dean, ‘in character’, if that wasn’t too grand a term, were in front of guys with cameras and lights, trying to say lines. I almost busted a gut before I remembered that this was normal for Jared and Jensen.

“Cut!” Someone called - I was assuming it was the director. Dean looked up and spotted me, and smiled. I smiled in response, a bit shocked. I could count on the fingers of my hands how many times I’d seen that smile on Dean’s face. The real one, so wide it just about split his face, no artifice, no guile.

“There she is,” he said, jogging over. “Missed ya, beautiful,” he said, slipping an arm around my waist before I even had time to tense. Instead, I put my own arm around his middle and rested my head on his shoulder briefly.

“You two are adorable,” Misha chuckled. Dean flipped him off, and I just grinned. We seemed to be doing that a lot, the pair of us, smiling. That was odd.

“So,” Tall Guy said, giving me a look I was instantly suspicious of. “Do we get to see a kiss?”

“Voyeur much?” I snapped. I didn’t want to kiss Dean. No I didn’t. I hadn’t had to force thoughts about his lips on mine away from my thoughts almost every day for years. Nope, not Mama Givens’ little girl. She wasn’t that stupid. Then I looked up at Dean. He was looking down at me, as if I were a puzzle he had to solve.

“What’d ya think, Beth?” he asked. “Give ‘em a bit of a show?” My eyes drifted, from his eyes, to his lips, then back again. It’s just a role, I told myself. Liz Givens would love to kiss her fiance, right? So you’d better man up and kiss him, sister. Worry about the heartbreak later.

So I smiled gamely back at Dean, hoping my nerves didn’t show. “Sure.” He looked at me, knowing I was at least partly lying. I just nodded as small as I could. I was ok with this. He put fingers lightly under my chin and tilted my head gently, leaning down until..

Oh gods. His lips met mine, and I melted. Any vestige of the badass hunter girl I’d been trying to be vanished as I kissed back, my unoccupied hand reaching up for his neck. It was all sweetness and tenderness, sparks and lightning, and the kiss was still relatively PG. I heard a wolf whistle and pulled back.

Sam, the traitor, was the owner of the whistle and the shit-eating grin he shot at me when I glared. Misha and Tall Guy were grinning unrepentantly as I buried my burning face in Dean’s shoulder. Just for a minute.

“You ok, there?” he asked, and I looked up, cheeks surely still red. He looked concerned, so I gave him a smile. A real one. I’d just kissed Dean freaking Winchester. How bad could I be?

“Yup,” I said. “Just not used to my private life being public.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Misha commented, having overheard. “It gets easier.” I gave him a grateful smile, and was still very aware of Dean’s arms still around me. He didn’t seem inclined to let me go, and I was very ok with that.

“Givens!” Someone shouted. I looked up.

“Director,” Dean whispered in my ear.

“Yes, sir?” I asked, stepping away from Dean reluctantly. I wasn’t about to screw over Other Me by acting unprofessional at work.

“We ready for the fight?” I glanced at Tall Guy, who nodded.

“Yes, sir.” I replied.

“Oh, and can we use you for the next scene after that?”

“Use me?”

“The girl playing Susan’s not showing up today - flu, or something.” The director was a fat man, I saw, coming into sight as Dean lead me over to set. About 30 pounds over weight, he leaned in one of those canvas movie chairs, surveying his domain. “Anyway,” he continued. “Since we only need her to kiss Dean, maybe read a line or two, it won’t matter if you fill in.”

I glanced at Dean, who was looking back, face unreadable. No help there. “Sure,” I said. “Happy to help.”

“Good.” The director turned back to the set. “Get this fight started, then head over to hair and makeup.”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right, folks,” Tall Guy said, and I found it incredible that no one had said his name yet, so I didn’t know it. “Let’s make Lizzy look good.”

“Not that she needs it,” Dean commented drily.

“Not that she needs it,” Tall Guy said. He passed me a clipboard with papers on it and seven guys in hunting gear gathered around. I looked over the papers quickly, grinning as I understood what Other Me had been trying to do. It was supposed to be a fight between the Winchesters and a group of demons. Sam and Dean were somehow separated from Cas, so they were fighting old-style, with Ruby’s blade and exorcisms. She was good, was Other Me. I saw the choreography, laid out with diagrams, then as a precis below.

“Jared, Jensen?” I called. “Come over here a minute.” The boys came to stand next to the Clipboard of Awesome.

“Looks like other me trusted you to do whatever it is you do,” I said. “Just, you know, don’t hurt anyone.” Dean started to roll his eyes. I elbowed him, and this time I connected. “I’m serious. These guys may be trained, but they’re not actual hunters. You could hurt them, and they won’t be expecting it. Telegraph your punches and kicks like I’m always telling you not to, ok?”

Sam nodded, then grinned. “Does this mean?”

I groaned. Sam had this spinning kick thing he loved to do, but was absolutely useless in a real fight. It looked awesome, though. “Yes, Sammy. You get to do the kick.” The 6’4” lug actually jumped up and down.

“Thank you!” He picked me up and twirled me around. I shrieked and hit him - gently - with the clipboard.

“Quit manhandling the fiance!” Dean said, grinning. I stuck out my tongue at him, but he just smirked.

“Ok, people,” the director said, cutting our little fun and games session short. “Let’s get started.”

I watched the stunt men circle around Sam and Dean, hugging the clipboard to my chest. Part of me couldn’t stand watching and not being part of the fight - I wanted to get in there and help, to even the odds a little. My hand itched for my katana. But at the same time, I knew that the stunt guys weren’t any threat. They just didn’t scream ‘I’m about to kill you!’ the way real bad guys did.

“Aaaand action,” the director called, and the stunt guys moved. They weren’t bad, I thought, watching them move. All of them had had a decent amount of training, and they were dangerous people. You could always tell. It was in the walk. But they went for the obvious punch, the obvious kick, and, most damning of all, the chivalrous option. They were good men, doing a job. No hair-pulling, groin-kicking, instep smashing. Just boxing and kicking. It was somewhat adorable.

And then Sam launched the move. I laughed silently as he yelled as he spun, lashing out with his right foot in a move so obvious, a six-year-old could have dodged him. Tall Guy was stood next to me, chuckling as well.

“Kid never grows up,” he commented.

“Nope,” I replied with a grin, popping the ‘p’. “I don’t know what I’d do if he did.”


	7. The One with the "Acting"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beth has to kiss Dean. Jensen. Oh dear, this is getting complicated...

_You can do this,_ I told myself firmly as I approached the set once more. _It’s just kissing Dean. Nothing you haven’t done before. No biggie._ Lies, of course, but they’d kept me company as I’d allowed the hair and makeup girls to put on a wig and a minimal amount of makeup. Any more would have been a waste of time, apparently, as “you’re pretty enough without, and we won’t be seeing your face anyway.” I hadn’t been sure whether or not that was a compliment, and I still wasn’t. I distracted myself with thoughts like that as I came to stand next by the director’s chair.

“Ah, Givens,” he commented, leaning on the canvas chair until I was sure it would collapse under his weight. “Reset for Scene 9!” he called, and crew scurried to work, reseting the bunker, moving blankets, resetting lights, and half a dozen other things.

“Ackles! Padalecki!” the director called, and Sam and Dean emerged from behind a fake bunker wall. Sam grinned as he saw me in my blonde wig, and Dean frowned at me. I rolled my eyes at him, sharing my own opinion of me as a blonde. With blonde hair I went from professional to bimbo in two seconds flat, and I wasn’t a fan. “Jared, you’re done for the day. Hang out and watch if you’re into that sort of thing. Or go home.”

“Oh no,” the younger Winchester said. “This I want to see.” I shot him a glare.

“Whatever.” The director turned to me and softened just slightly. Apparently the blonde thing was working for him just fine. “Givens, you have one line to say. You can do that, right?”

 _And kill you five different ways without breaking a sweat,_ I wanted to say, but I restrained myself. “Of course,” I said.

“Ok, then.” He reached for a script. “Your line is-” Paper rustled. “‘I don’t care, Dean. I love you.’” I gulped. “And then you kiss him.”

“Ok,” I said, and only someone who knew me really well would have heard the almost panic in my voice. Killing demons, digging up bodies to salt and burn, all of that I faced without a qualm. But telling Dean I loved him, even though he would think it was just a line from a stupid script? My stomach was in knots.

And of course Dean did know me well enough to hear the panic. So he spoke as we were put in our starting spots and the crew worked around us, getting the lighting right.

“Beth?”

“I’m fine, Jensen,” I said, making sure to use his other name. I shot him a forced smile. “Promise.”

He shook his head at me.

“Aaaand, ACTION!” the director shouted. There was complete silence on the set, and I swallowed. _Oh, come on, Beth. You can do this._

“I don’t _care_ , Dean,” I said, marching the few steps over to him and putting a hand on his bicep. I peered into his face, too focused on desperately trying not to screw this up to notice his expression. “I love you.” And then his lips came crashing down on mine with almost bruising force, one hand on my chin, the other arm encircling my waist and pulling me close. My thoughts juddered to a stop as I fisted my own hands into his shirt collar and yanked him even closer to me, kissing back with everything I had.

“Cut!” the director called. “CUT!” Dean broke the kiss, panting slightly. His pupils were dilated when his eyes met mine, the green of his irises barely visible. I myself was having trouble locating where my knees were, focused as I was on the memory of Dean’s lips on mine. My knees had seemed to have vanished somewhere, and I couldn’t quite seem to find them. My hands were still around Dean’s collar, and, with a bit of conscious thought, I managed to relax them a bit.

“Good, good,” the director said, oblivious of any discomfort on mine or Dean’s part. “Let’s reset. And remember, Jensen, she’s supposed to kiss you, instead of the other way around.” A few of the crew chuckled.

I’d forgotten that, I thought as I stepped back onto my mark. Although I certainly wasn’t complaining. That had been some kiss. I certainly didn’t mind repeating it.

 _He’s acting_ , my brain reminded me, and my stomach dropped. _Sure, he’s a great kisser, but that doesn’t mean he likes you. Get this over with so you don’t have to kiss him again._

But I like kissing Dean.

I let the traitorous thought linger as someone rearranged my wig so it fell more naturally down my back.

“ACTION!” the director called once again. The same quiet descended over the set, and I decided I wasn’t going to act anymore. I was going to tell the exact truth. Tell Dean so at least I said it once, and then I’d be done.

“I. Don’t. Care.” I said, taking a step towards Dean with every word, so I was practically chest-to-chest with the guy, so I had to crane my neck to look him in the eye. “I don’t care,” I repeated, reaching a hand up to brush my thumb against his cheekbone. He closed his eyes. “Dean, I love you,” I said, and went up on my toes. Even then, I wouldn’t have reached his lips to kiss him, but when I reached around his neck and pulled, he came willingly, and I eased my lips over his.

I poured every ounce of feeling I had into that kiss. All the love, all the loyalty. Every night I’d waited up for the boys worrying if they’d come back alive. Every time I’d seen Dean flirting with another girl, kissing another girl, jealousy burning through my veins although I just wanted him to be happy.

I kissed Dean, and he kissed back, more gently this time, fingers ghosting over my face like he was filing the memory away somewhere. Finally I couldn’t breathe anymore, so I pulled away from the kiss and Dean followed, resting his forehead against mine. His eyes were closed, and I could see the small smile playing across his face as he hummed low in his throat. No one would have been able to hear it, so soft was that hum, but it vibrated through the places our bodies touched, and for a moment I felt like I’d been electrocuted.

“Cut,” the director said, and Dean’s eyes flew open as he wrenched himself between me and the possible danger. I couldn’t help a giggle and rested a hand on his shoulder as he turned back to me sheepishly.

“I think we have what we need,” the director said. “We’re done for the day, Miss Givens. Feel free to take Ackles with you on your way home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all enjoyed it! Let me know what you think!


	8. The One with the Dress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gen and Beth pick a dress, then it's off to her and Dean - wait, no - Liz and Jensen's engagement party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the last chapter I have written, folks - I hope you like it, and the story's almost done - one, possibly two more chapters left (that I have yet to write...)
> 
> Let me know what you think!

“Oh, come on, Gen,” I said. “Please, no more!” We were standing in the remains of what had once been my closet. And my bedroom. Now every inch seemed to be covered with clothes - discarded dresses, skirts, pants, and tops. On the sole uncovered portion of the bed was Genevieve Padalecki, Jared’s wife. She’d come over that day to help me find a dress for the party.

Apparently she and Jared were hosting some kind of blowout for the whole cast, and it was going to double as an engagement party for me and Jensen. I shuddered just thinking about it. And, even though I had a closet bigger than some people’s apartments, I still had nothing to wear.

“One more, Beth, promise.” Gen got up and went into the closet. She rummaged around, and I wondered if there was anything actually left in the room. She came back with a garment bag. “Try this one.”

I groaned, but took the bag, unzipping it as I went into the closet to change for the, hopefully, last time. I stared at the dress that Gen had picked out. It was beautiful. A simple sheath dress with a square neckline, it was the fabric that made the dress special - it was made out of a shimmery shot silk in iridescent teal. I tugged the dress on and stepped out.

Gen grinned wide. “That’s the one.”

I smiled as well. I felt pretty in it - like me, just better. My phone buzzed, and Gen flipped it over and read the text. “Boy’s will be here in five minutes.” She eyed me speculatively. “Jensen is going to die.”

“I certainly hope not,” I said, not liking that image one little bit, even though I knew Gen was only joking.

 

It felt like a scene out of one of those idiotic romantic comedies. When Sam and Dean had returned, Gen had informed me I was to stay upstairs until I could make a “grand entrance”, as she put it, and she’d deal with the boys. And now I was standing at the top of the stairs, hoping like hell I wouldn’t decide to fall down them in my just-a-bit-too-high heels.

“Beth?” I heard Dean climb a few stairs.

“No! Wait down here, she’s going to come down!” Gen must have turned her head because suddenly the acoustics changed. “Beth, get your butt down here before I drag you!”

“Coming!” I called, hoping the distance and the echo would mask the nervousness in my tone. I took a deep breath and put my hand on the banister. _Just pretend it’s another hunt,_ I told myself. _Just acting. It’s just acting. It’s just_

I was halfway down the stairs before I saw Dean and stopped. I’d seen Dean in a suit before, sure. Every time we pretended to be feds. But not a suit like this - one that fit down to the last millimetre. He looked amazing, and he was looking at me, green eyes glowing, jaw dropped just slightly.

I quirked a smile. “Come on, Winchester,” I teased softly. “It’s not like you’ve never seen me in a dress before.”

“What’s - oh” Sam took the few steps necessary to look up the stairs and see me. He let out a low whistle. “Wow, Beth. You look great.”

“Thanks,” I told him, able once more to move my feet, descending the steps so I was on ground level. Even with my heels, I was slightly shorter than Dean, who had offered me his arm the minute I got close enough.

“Other me is a lucky bastard,” he whispered in my ear. “You look beautiful, Beth.”

“Took the words right out of my mouth,” I said, tightening my grip just slightly on his arm as my heels wobbled. We were heading out the door, and I’d slipped just slightly on the concrete of the front steps. Dean hesitated, just slightly, making sure I wasn’t going to fall flat on my face before continuing. Gen and Sam were in their car already, pulling out of the driveway.

“You know you don’t have to open the car door for me,” I said as Dean did exactly that, opening Baby’s passenger door with a gallant bow and a smirk.

“I have a gorgeous fiance, I think I do,” he said, kissing me on the cheek as I brushed close. I blushed, grateful he was rounding the car so he couldn’t see.

 

 

We’d kissed four more times over the course of the party, and I hadn’t yet gotten used to it. Every time Dean had bent his head to mine, my thoughts had blanked, my lips moving with his. The last time, when Gen had started the shouts for us to kiss - I was going to kill her, I thought, only half-joking. My hand itched for my katana - after we’d kissed, Dean had taken one look at me, then kissed me quickly again, once on the lips, once on the forehead. I’d just buried my head in his shoulder, hoping I wasn’t getting too much makeup on his suit, and wondering what the hell was going on.

Dean wasn’t this affectionate with anyone. When he flirted, usually with the waitresses at bars, it was as much bantering as compliments, smirks and sideways glances. And our relationship back in the real world had that as well - we could go back and forth for hours, swapping insults and movie references. But here, Dean was considerate. And openly affectionate. It wasn’t that I doubted he cared for me in real life. He did. He’d risk his life for mine in an instant, for his ‘sister’, or whatever he thought I was.

But this was different again. When we were together, we were constantly in contact, holding hands, or leaning against each other. Or Dean would put an arm around my waist. And I’d caught him staring at me, the few times Gen had dragged us away from each other to have girl talk. I’d never seen the expression on his face before, the same one he’d worn after that last kiss. It was happiness and sadness, longing, and something else I’d be tempted to call love, if I didn’t know better. I knew that expression. I’d seen it on my face myself, when I’d caught myself staring at Dean.

But Dean didn’t love me. Not possible, right? I mean, sure, in this world, Jensen loved Other Liz. But Dean and Beth? I couldn’t quite believe it. So I might as well enjoy this delusion as long as I could. Screw the emotional damage. I was an adopted Winchester, for chrissakes. I ate emotional damage for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

It was getting late and people were starting to leave. Gen and Sam were in the kitchen, saying goodbyes, and Dean had dragged me to the couch in Sam and Gen’s living room, saying it was about time I had a break from standing in my heels. As my feet were really hurting, I didn’t complain and kicked off my shoes as I sat, leaning into Dean as he pulled me into his side.

“You ok?” he asked, voice low in my ear.

I nodded. “Just tired. You?”

He didn’t say anything for long seconds as he readjusted his grip on me. “I’m not sure I want to go back,” he said finally.

I curled my arms around his middle. Poor Dean. “I know what you mean,” I replied.

“You’d stay too?”

“It’s not the worst life,” I said, thinking _Of course I’d stay if you did, dummy!_ “I mean, I’d get a job I loved and was good at, I’d get to be married to you, there’d be no monsters to kill,” I ran out of things to say, hoping Dean wouldn’t have noticed the second part of that sentence. “I’d miss Bobby, for one,”

“Wait, what?” Dean had actually been listening. For once.

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb, Beth,” Dean chided. “You’d get to be married to me. That’s what you said.”

“That’s what I said.”

“And that’s a good thing?” I took the plunge.

“From where I’m standing,” I grinned, “or, actually, sitting, yes. A very good thing.”

Dean put a hand underneath my chin and turned it so I was looking at him. “Are you sure, Beth?”

“In for a penny,” I murmured, figuring now was as good a time as any to own up. “Here, or back home, Dean. I love you either place. Doesn’t matter if you feel the same way or not.” _I mean, if you did love me, I wouldn’t exactly complain…_

His lips closed the distance between us, meeting mine in a kiss. When we were both panting for air, he pulled away just far enough so that our foreheads touched.

“You’ll regret it, Beth,” he said. “People around me… People I … love. They don’t tend to die in bed.”

I stole a kiss, grinning. “Don’t care, Dean-o. I’m willing to take that chance.”


	9. The One with the Happy Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel appears and everything has to end, sooner or later...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am soooo sorry for taking this long to end this story - I hope those of you who've stuck with it this long enjoy the ending, and please, accept the phantom muffins I've phantom baked as apology!

“Aaaand cut!” Dean and I jerked away from each other and towards the direction of the noise to find Gabe sitting in one of the easy chairs in the corner.

“What the hell?” I still had my fingers in Dean’s lapel, and I consciously made myself relax. Dean’s arm, which had tightened around my waist, relaxed a fraction. Sure, Gabe was a nuisance. But he wasn’t dangerous. Usually.

“Can’t a guardian angel check up on his charge occasionally?” Gabe asked casually. I tensed. Dean didn’t know about Gabe being part of my life. In fairness, I didn’t know about Gabe being part of my life most of the time as well, but that was hardly the issue. Gabe must have read my expression, because he shook his head at me.

“Don’t get so worried, Short Stack. Squirrel,” he turned his attention to Dean, “She doesn’t remember me when I’m not around. Quit fussing.”

“I wasn’t fussing,” Dean protested, and I had to look at him. I’d been avoiding his expression before - scared of what I might find, but when I turned my head, he was looking down at me with half a smile.

“What did you do to be landed with him as a fairy godmother?” Dean asked. I chuckled.

“No clue,” I said, leaning back into him slightly. All was forgiven. I hoped. “So, I repeat. Gabe. What the hell are you doing here? What are _we_ doing here, come to that - I’m assuming you’re responsible for this?”

“I’m here because you and Squirrel finally confessed your love for each other. Although seriously, that was how you did it? I gave you the ring, and the house, and everything, and you come clean talking about going back?” Gabe shook his head. “Humans. You’re here so my darling Elizabeth would finally admit she has feelings for you, Dean-o. And yes, of course, I’m responsible. I am the picture of responsibility.” He puffed himself up, and I couldn’t help but chuckle.

“So you did all of this so Beth and I would say we liked each other?” Dean asked it like he was still processing it, and I glanced at him. His eyes met mine, and he smiled. “Of all the things…”

“Gabe!” Sam was in the doorway, jaw dropped.

“Moose!” the angel carolled, patting the spot next to him. “Come, sit down. You just missed out on the fireworks. Thing One and Thing Two over here just admitted they want to make sweet sweet love.” I felt my face flush and Dean’s hand tightened on my waist.

Sam just looked at us and grinned. “Knew it’d happen sooner or later.”

“Since when?” I demanded.

“Dean’s been pussyfooting around you for months now,” Sam said, sitting down on the other end of the couch from us. Gabe pouted. “I told him to tell you, but, well, you know how he can be.”

“Hey,” Dean protested, but his arm was firm around my waist, and he pressed a kiss to my hair.

“Can't help it if we’re a little slow,” I said stoutly.

Sam shook his head. “And so it begins,” he said. “When do we go back?” He asked Gabe.

“Well, Moose,” Gabe said pacing the room before stopping right in front of Dean and I. “Your dearest brother and sister-in-law have a decision to make.”

“Hey,” I protested. “I'm not-”

“Not yet, anyway,” Dean murmured, which shut me up. I turned to look at his expression, which was a little embarrassed, but he clearly had meant what he'd said.

“Ok,” I said softly, leaning into him a bit more, if that was even possible.

“Anyway,” Gabe said, acting as if he were annoyed by the interruption. Although if he were that annoyed, he would be wearing that grin. “You and Squirrel need to decide, Short Stack. Do you want to stay?”

I turned back to Dean. _Stay? In this world?_ The idea was tempting. No danger, no potential death. But….

Dean’s face showed the same indecision as mine.

“If you suggest staying here because it's safer for me, I'll kick your ass,” I told him.

Dean smirked. “As if you weren't about to say the same thing,” he retorted.

“Which is why we can't stay,” I said.

“Yeah.” Dean nodded slowly. “It’d be…. cheating.”

“It wouldn't be real,” I agreed. “Take us back, Gabe,” I told my guardian angel.

“You sure?” he asked.

“We’re sure,” Dean replied. I nodded.

An eyeblink later, and we were standing in the bunker, Sam, Dean, Gabe and I.

I had a horrible thought and took the few steps to stand next to Dean.

He looked down at me, and, bless, I could see the same fear reflected in his eyes.

“Nothing’s changed,” I murmured, and he pulled me into a hug, burying his face in my shoulder.

“Thank Chuck,” he whispered, and I giggled, just the once.

“My work here is done,” Gabe said, and as one, Dean and I shot him the finger. Gabe chuckled. “Come on, Moose,” he said. “Tell me exactly what's been going on with those two.”

“Where do I even start?” Sam chuckled, even as their voices receded into the bunker.

I pulled away to look at Dean.

“Do you think?” I glanced meaningfully at where Sam and Gabe had been.

Dean shook his head. “No way.” He shook his head. “Right?”

I shrugged, then grinned. “Well, now they've deserted us, I can think of more interesting things to be doing.”

Dean’s grin matched mine. “You know,” he said, one hand coming up to smooth over my cheek, “so can I.”


End file.
